Princess in a CrazyHouse
by starlightwraith
Summary: Eight Kings of Gehenna Highschool Au. Told from the POV of their sister. PLease please PLEASE review! I need to know where I need to fix my skills! PLEASE!
1. The Inner Sailor Senshii

**Hi everybody! This is my first blue exorcist fanfic! It's heavily based off off a fanfic called "The Baal Bunch" by ProbableImpossibilities. It's basically a high school AU about the 8 demon kings of Gehenna. There really aren't enough of those! Since the author doesn't look like she/he's gonna update again, I thought I might vent by making my own highschool AU, instead. Told from the point of view of my "OC", their sister Jezebel (who is supposed to be the representation of the Morrigan, an Irish War Goddess aka Queen of Phantoms) **

**Blue Exorcist Belongs to Kazue Kato. I own nothing but Jezebel.**

There are those who could tell you that living in a house with eight brothers would be a fun and whimsical time, in which you would never know the meaning of boredom and every day would be a delight!

Those people are full of a substance than is produced after digesting food.

Or in the very least they never grew up with MY brothers. And before you roll your eyes and gloss on a condescending smirk as the fleeting thought in the form of "that's what they all say" sprints across your pretentious, assuming mind, I implore you to not judge my misfortune as overdramatisized until you have read all the supporting evidence enabling my thesis.

On that note I shall commence your education of my family tree.

Let's start with the Inner Sailor Senshii (This is what I call the first four of my brothers)

I suppose that we shall first start with my oldest brother, Lucifer, the head of my little clan. Of all my siblings, he is the only one who I can actually go out in public with without even the slightest risk of humiliation trauma. He is currently a sophomore at Yale. He moved out a few years ago and I must admit that it was a smart move on his part to get away from his family as fast as he could. Unfortunately, for little old me, his absence was a huge drawback. He was the normalcy regulator in my house, somehow singlehandedly balancing out everybody else's abnormalcys. Now that he is gone, I am sad to say there is nobody left to balance out the insanity from the ordinary and I fear the day I lose my grasp on reality is advancing at a disturbingly alarming rate. The fact that I'm not in a straitjacket in a mental ward right at this minute shows just how powerful the human will can be when tested to it's full potential (in my case, to maintain my sanity) Of course the rest of my family probably wouldn't have the sense to send me off to an insane asylum. They'd probably just think I was embracing my heritage or something under those lines. But I digress.

And now we move on to Samael.

The second oldest in my family, the chain of weirdness begins with him. Tall and purple haired, it is not easy for him to brush past your memory without leaving a mark. he is a senior in my highschool. That means that he'll be graduating next year, and I won't have to worry about his antics no further. God? What did I ever do to you to give me a brother who comes to school everyday dressed like a clown at the circus? What kind of monstrous deity would give a fifteen year old sophomore a brother who talks in German phrases and marches around the hallways like he's in a marching band? His wierdess was the first one that clued me in on the backwardness of our family. When you are six years old and your little brother is watching girl's cartoons and quoting Shakespeare..._oh god, I think I need a minute_

_ok. ok. I can do this_

Allow me to start from the beginning. The only way for me to get to the end of my brother's antics is to just list them off the bat. Should I dwell tooo much on them, I'll be reduced to a quivering lump of embarrassed, ashamed, goo.

Samael decided that he would refuse to go by his name in the tenth grade. He now tells everybody to call him...Mephisto Pheles. I think that's the name of the devil in some Greek novel or something. I don't know why, and it would be impossible for me to try and comprehend it. He calls himself an "illusionist" and I call him a birthday party magician who can't do a card trick to save his life. He has disturbingly green eyes and a smirk that almost never leaves his face. The only emotions he is capable of expressing are contempt, sarcasm, cynicism, and pretentiousness. He dresses only in white and wears tights to school. He also considers himself a "Thespian" and has starred in every school play since he was in fifth grade. He is the most insufferable actor ever, constantly pounding the drama teacher to do the most ridiculous plays ever...I'm sure she'll be more than relieved when he's gone. (Now really, what kind of high school play is "Ivanhoe" or "Oedipus"?) He always gets the lead role, even if the lead isn't a boy, much to my (and the Senior who played Romeo in last year's production of Romeo and Juliet's) chagrin. He is responsible for the drastic reduction of people willing to sign the audition sheets every time a play comes around. Should he stay another year, he'll be doing one man shows. In conclusion, he is the definition of a weeaboo and in seventh grade I invited my friends to sleepover, and they thought Samael's room was mine because of all the My Little Pony and Sailor Moon memorabilia festooning it.

_Ok. Samael's over. Hard part's over. I can do this._

Now we move on to Astaroth. Also a senior (keep in mind most of my brothers are not that far apart in ages. I will explain later) The second oldest of my brothers, he is the definition of a creep. He looks like something your'd find on the cover of a dark fantasy teenlit novel. His hair is an ashy blond (it's really brown, but he bleaches it to "match his soul") and if there is a single article of clothing that isn't black in his closet, he is yet to wear it. He has an obsession with death that is so extreme that he spends more time on the subject than with life itself. He wears bright red contacts all the time (I can't even remember his natural color) and he can drain the positive energy in a room like a battery. A perfect example would be when he came to pick me up from my friend's house (father was mad at me for lying about my grade on a test) and when my friend asked him if he wanted to hear a joke he said "life is a joke. It is nothing but a vast desert of materialism and illusions that we must cross before our descent into death. We fill it up with lies and ignorance, desperately trying to convince ourselves that there is more to this journey than it really is. But it's nothing more than our final rest stop before entering oblivion. We will all become nothingness. We will all go...and the journey will be useless...just like everybody else's" my friends don't invite me over anymore. Astaroth's fascination with death has lead to him reading his depressing poetry in my school talent show, bringing roadkill into his room, stringing it up by it's feet and draining it's blood into buckets (I made the mistake of entering it once to call him over for dinner), and practicing voodoo on my barbie dolls. Last year, he blackmailed me into wearing his mom's* dress and tried to use me as a vessel to summon her spirit from limbo.

Now we move onto the twins, Juniors Egyn and Iblis. Their DNA may be carbon copies of each other, but they couldn't be more different if they had been born separate species. Iblis is the younger twin* and he has a temper that is frankly dangerous. He can get incredibly worked up over the smallest things. His hair is a bright, carrot red to symbolize his temper and the same goes for his freckles. His skin is disturbingly pale, as though all the colors were leached from it. But this does provide a nice canvas for all the interesting shades his face turns when he gets angry.

Taming an angry Iblis is a but similar to swimming in Shark Alley during your menstrual cycle. It is highly unlikely you will survive. Bloody noses, black eyes, and split lips are practically unavoidable. His vocabulary also taking a turn for the crude is also to be expected. When I was six, I called him a stinkyhead for taking my candy and he pulled out half the hair on my head. Fortunately, Lucifer was kind enough to help style my hair in a manner that wouldn't get me mercilessly teased by my classmates (once again, Lucifer helped me keep my sanity) To make matters worse for the dealer, Iblis can take hours to show much as an indication that he might cool down. I have lost track of the times his teacher's had to call Father after he went beserk in a desperate attempt to stop him from demolishing the classroom (not that it helped) After the sixth time he "sparked up" in third grade, his teacher forced father to send him to a psychiatrist who prescribed a large variety of drugs to help maintain his temper. In the span of eight years, Iblis's meds have been steadily upgraded to the point where I think he's now on horse tranquilizers.

*The only siblings of mine who share a mother are the twins. The rest of our mothers have never seemed to survive marriage for more than two years (most literally). Keep in mind that our dad took out huge life insurance policies on them before their tragic demises or have them paying tons of child support. Lucifer's mother was in a car crash, Samael's died in childbirth, Astaroth's comitted suicide via hanging, Egyn and Iblis's mother was a victim of a building fire in her office, my own, Azazel's and Beelzbub's mothers divorced after finding out about the number of casualities Father's wives had suffered, and Amaimon's loving mother split after the kid was born because she (and I quote) "didn't want to get stuck raising a dum dum" The number of consorts my father has blown through is something of a hot topic in school and another reason why nobody really wants to be associated with the King Family.

*If you are wondering why I went straight to Iblis instead of Egyn, the older twin (I'd which I'd be going in the order of oldest to youngest, it's because I associate Iblis's fiery temper to the fire powers of Sailor Mars, one of Sailor Moon's inner Sailor Senshii)


	2. Sailor Egyn

**Sailor Egyn **

And now we move to Egyn, twin of Iblis. Unlike the latter, the definition of losing it seems to never have registered in his vocabulary. He's always talking in this smooth voice which I could count in my head the times I heard him raise. I have. let him know from a young age onward that he would not have to worry about obtaininga job that would involve recording voiceovers on airplane safety tutorials or shampoo commercials. He never seems to have experienced stress, frustration, or rage. However, that is not to say that he is incapable of anger. But where Iblis shrieks abuse involving your rectum in your direction and uses you as a practice dummy for wrestling holds, Egyn's voice takes on the properties of antifreeze and scalds your core on a level that Iblis's death threats and temper tantrums would be foolish to even dream of reaching. Egyn's eyes take on the properties of stone cold iron and they hammer into your soul as he employs them to stare at you. All the while never saying a word. And he will continue to do so for weeks until you soothe him and make amends. If his anger is capable of dissolving without the assist of your blubbers and snivels of repentance for whatever injustice you may have thrust upon him...well... nobody in recorded history has carried out the experiment long enough to yield results.

Egyn is actually one of my more tolerable brothers who I could announce my relation to without staining my reputation. That is, until I started high school.

As I was going to start my freshman year, I was already dreading the behavior of my other brothers in public with the risk of being indirectly associated with them by my peers. As though I had enough factors playing a role in ruining my upcoming four-year long high school image to consider, what with Samael's wardrobe and Astaroth's eternally blood- stained fingers alone. Just when I had completed my summer-long calculated strategy that I had devised to deny my partial* DNA congruency to seven of my hermanos, an unexpected curveball went hurtling in my direction on the night before school started...

It was in the form of Egyn's announcement that he was going to go through life as a girl and would immediately begin crossdressing from tomorrow onwards.

My family has lived in the same town all my life and every kid in town atttends the same elementary, middle, and high school.

So everybody would know Egyn was really a boy.

My father was more concerned with the annoyance of changing Egyn's registration at the last minute than actually soaking in the content of the newsflash.

My brothers were all equally distraught and bemoaning the impending shame (as if THEY were the ones in danger of having their reputation ruined. They didn't need Egyn in drag for that)

(To be honest, this newsflash wasn't really _that_ showstopping. Egyn never was exactly football playing, and always did like growing his hair long. I had to literally wrench my barbie dolls and Princess dresses away from him in childhood) But the idea of him crossdressing to school...

To make matters worse, he decided that he had to express his newfound femininity to the maximum potential. He came to school sporting a crop top and a miniskirt (an outfit originally going to be worn by me). and tied his shoulder length platinum blond mop (which he had died turquoise overnight) into a ballerina bun. The crown jewel of this whole fruit basket was his entrance into the quad during lunch and announcing to the whole school that he had discovered his urge to exchange genders. And then he started pole dancing on the school flagpost. And he was kind enough to thank of his little sister Jez Maureen King, who was sitting in the third table to the right in the middle row, for letting him borrow her clothes makeup, and shoes. I didn't give him permission to wear any of my things.

And so began the era of watching Egyn model walking by my locker, and booby trapping my closet to keep him from raiding my favortie dresses.

I suppose that to some, I could be seen as an unsupportive transphobic cisbigot sister who should support her new sister's metamorphosis into womanhood. But the accusers have never had the luck of the cute guy from English class asking them out to the movies, then upon their date's early arrival to pick them up, while they were in the shower, and come down to find their sister wink at him and say "You're dating my sister because she looks like a guy aren't you? Poor confused little thing. If you want, I can give you the stimulating experience(wink wink)" He remembered that he had something to do and cancelled early.

Boys don't ask me out anymore.

*We're all half-siblings


	3. Sailor Azazel

**Hi everybody, I just wanted to let you know that I decided to change the plot around a little. I have decided to save the appearance of Safaia to a different story and the Okumura twins shall not be making an appearance until further notice. Nyan!**

P.S, having The Morrigan be the youngest in a family of 8 was a little tricky so I'm gonna put her in the middle. Azazel, Beelzebub, and Amy will be younger than her

We now bring our attention to the last three sailor Senshii

Sailor Azazel

Samael and Egyn are the most embarrassing of all my brothers; Astaroth is the most disturbing. But when it comes to eccentric, I'm afraid Azazel takes the cake.

Like Astaroth, Azazel has ashy blond hair (but unlike Astaroth, his is actually natural) Egyn partakes in the trait for that color but then he grew it out to his shoulders and died it a hideous aquamarine color. So Azie (as I so affectionately call him) is the only one who retains it as his natural color. He dresses almost as absurdly as Samael (I have strong suspicions of him raiding my brother's closet) He may be the only boy in America to wear clogs, stockings , and suspenders. Suffice to say, he looks like he would not be questioned were he to be on the cover of a book of European fairytales. I blame Samael entirely for the brat's wardrobe and take my frustrations out on him every chance I get. It's bad enough having one brother who dresses like a German retard. Two is drilling through my breaking point. But I digress.

Azazel is the definition of a neat freak; he thoroughly polishes his shoes three times a week (now, I ask you, "who the heck does that?"), launders twice, and is the only one in the family who actually bothers to iron his stockings (remember those stockings. They are of some relevance) The meticulous way he combs his pageboy haircut, combined with his refusal to leave the bathroom until his signature hairstyle is perfect, has resulted in many a morning in which I abandoned him in in favor of catching the bus for school.

The one small mercy about Azazel, despite his girlish behavior and appearance (combined with the girly hair, he has an angular, feminine bone structure, and eyelashes longer and a voice that is higher than my own) he seems perfectly content to continue his life as a boy. Despite this, I have reason to believe that he might be enjoying the company of men more than women, due to his habit giggling and blushing whenever my boyfriends come to pick me up. But unlike Egyn, I don't think I'll have to worry about Azazel robbing me of my significant other anytime soon. Mainly because he is so immature that he needs to be fed from a baby bottle, he still comes barreling into my father's lap whenever he returns from his lucrative business with shrieks of "Daddy! Daddy! I missed you so much! I love you and I waited for you the whole time!", and there isn't much more than the drop of a pin on the list of requiem for an emotional breakdown. I'm telling you, the boy is fourteen and he can't be called a sissy without breaking down like the Roman Empire. Father always yells at me for this and takes away my cellphone for a week as punishment. But is he seriously under the impression that manly men take ballet and listen to Taylor Swift?

But despite all of my little brother's "quirks" I don't need to worry about being identified as _his _sister because everybody in my school seems to dote on the little brat. The girls in my school see him as "special" and "adorable". I have bared witness to many occasions when I walked by a lunch table to see a group of girls in my English class, one of whom is holding him like a teddy bear, or his being invited to more slumber parties within the semester than I will in a year. I swear that my classmates must view him as a plush toy. But at least they don't view him with contempt. Because if they did, they would excrete it onto myself.


	4. Sailor Beelzebub

Sailor Beelzebub

The second to youngest of my little slew of siblings is Beelzebub, the most tolerable of all the little brats I've been forced to sister. He is nowhere near as normal as Luc, but he passes the "public test" (If I can spend more than an hour at school by his side, will I be seen as a loser?) and is the only other sibling who does. He has short, mousy-brown hair, that normally looks like he forgot about it's existence (I'm ninety percent certain that he would erupt into combustion were he to be presented with a hairbrush, he would spontaneously com-bust) It seems as though every strand on his head is trying to carve out a direction that is different from the one all others were going from... How anybody can get their hair to behave in such a manner in-deliberately is beyond my comprehension. He has the standard green eyes that everybody in my family save father, myself, Luc, and my youngest brother have. He may be the second to youngest but he is taller than Azazel (9 months his senior) by a head and a half.

The reason why I don't see Beelze as a threat to my social status is because the child never says anything 80% of the time. I can walk with him all the way to my school, and he will not utter a single word. During lunch time, he sits in a corner of the courtyard and blankly stares at nothing in particular until the bell rings. If you try to talk to him in the middle of this ritual, he will not make even the slightest indication toward acknowledging your prescence. Should you pester him for long enough so that you should threaten the stability of his routine, he will write down a one word answer on a piece of notebook paper. But few people have the patience or stamina. Beelzebub only does this with teachers so should he perform this action to you, feel highly flattered. His anti-social behavior at school has been the cause of much bemoanment from father. Legend says that the total number of words omitted by his mouth during all his time on a school campus has been three.

But this behavior is a mask he dons for the public eye. Behind closed doors, the heathen is a completely different person.

First of all, let me shine some light on the subject of his hobby. Bugs. The monster_ loves_ them. He reveres them. He adores them. He _cannot_ get enough of them. From kindergarden on, he was putting every book about insects in the library on a waiting list. His internet search history is jammed up with the urls of sites about the eating habits of bees and the migration patterns of dragon flies. I swear to god, the little creep is so infatuated with creepy crawlies that he's starting to look like one (not unlike how people grow to resemble their pets) He's got a long nose that you would expect to see embedded in a fat kid's arm, guzzling blood, protruding headgear that I expect him to click together like pincers when he's angry, and squinty little bootbutton eyes that seem to lack a pupil.

I could handle the obsessive research. It's none of my business after all, what my brothers do in their down time. What I don't like is his _children_. Apparently feverishly researching bugs is not enough for the monster. He's got to do "fieldwork" as well. And he brings ans, earthworms, larvae, and woodlice home with him in jars. He puts them under his microscope to study their shell patterns and other such nonsense. He oohs and aahs over the stuff like he's finding the cure for cancer. And he shares a room with me. It is very hard to sleep when you are a feminine girl like myself who adheres bugs with a passion when you are sharing sleeping quarters with every insect under the sun. It makes you skin crawl. And since Beelzebub loves his children so, he can't bear to leave them in his jars. According to him they "look at him with pleading eyes that he can't say no to" And they are attracted to my bed like a magnet. I have spent a good portion of my life begging Beelzebub to move his makeshift insect lab to the tool shed, garage or basement, but the little creep insists that he can't bear to leave his "children" in such drafty, uncomfortable places and wants to keep them near him at all times. They supposedly make it easier for him to sleep. But is it really their presence that makes it easier, or my discomfiture?

Beelzebub is eerily protective of his children. One morning, I found a cockroach in my dollhouse, and I shrieked and nearly had a nervous breakdown. Beelze was more concerned with comforting the traumatized roach than his own sister. Another time my youngest brother, swatted a fly on a summer picnic, and the little pest went into a full barrage about the rights of flies that would have made a Tumblr SJW proud. He did the whole thing with my baby brother in a headlock that gave him a two hour migraine. The injustice arthropods face can tap into the hidden strength all humans have in Beelze and turn him into the Incredible Hulk.

And now we go to the second aspect of Beelzebub's abnormalcy: his school, he may be a socially awkward, withdrawn misfit, bbut at home he turns into a crass perverted rude beast. Every 2 out of four comments that comes out of his mouth are either "That's what she said" or contain a swear word. Not exactly somebody you want at a fancy dinner party.


	5. Sailor Amaimon

Finally, we reach the last of the Sailor Senshii, Amaimon. Of all my deranged brothers, he is the only one who's unique variance contains some justification. He's mentally challenged, you see, and at times he can act a little childish. Even though he's a Seventh grader, he's always carrying around a stuffed animal that looks like an Easter egg from hell. He calls it Behemoth. And if anybody tries t take the ugly thing away from him, he throws a fit, then curls into the fetal position for hours, whimpering and sniveling like an idiot, even if you give it back to him.

It's impossible for him to be taught anything like an ordinary human being; expecting his mind to be able to comprehend something just by telling it to him is like expecting Astaroth to be happy. It is foolish and unrealistic. He needs to be taught with a "special method" (one which I suspect all of the special ed teachers in my school spent three years devising) in order to retain anything. And if you don't have the time and patience to do this "special method" involving charts and a musical number, then you have to spell everything out to him like a mime. You know how little children sometimes try to teach their little siblings after their first day of kindergarten? Yeah, when I tried to do that with Amaimon, it ended with me and him throwing a tantrum, me because I couldn't believe my unfortunate luck to have a brother as simple-minded as Amaimon, and the latter because he didn't know why I was crying. His overlarge cerulean-blue eyes always have a blank look in them that makes him secrete the aura of smoking a joint. Unless you mention candy. Then his eyes light up like a Christmas tree and he turns into a person on ecstasy. For his future math teachers, if you want even the slightest hope of Amy retaining the information you've been vainly trying to stuff down his throat, try concocting word problems requiring whatever theorems you wish to explain with candy as the unit. It's your only hope.

Amaimon's immaturity makes Azazel look like a forty year old trapped in a sophomore's body. He has the mind of a third grader and whenever Father comes home, he literally runs into his arms and squeals "PAPA! I MISSED YOU AND I LOVE YOU!" ten times louder than Azazel, he is incapable of going more than an hour without bursting into tears over something or the other (he's basically Azazel amplified by a factor of 10000), he chases fireflies into traffic, he sucks his thumb, and if he hears a swear word, the radius of his eyeballs gets squared, and he turns white as a sheet, his idea of fun is to roll around in the dirt in my vegetable garden, eat the unwashed fruits off my blackberry shrubs, and play on our swing set shrieking like he's on a roller-coaster. To make matters worse, most of his clothes are hand-me-downs of Azazel and Beelzebub. Therefore, his clothing style is a mix between the two. Neither are fashion icons so his wardrobe, combined with his childish attitude makes him a target for bullies. I have to avoid walking past the school gardens at lunch because I usually find myself bearing witness to a bunch of meat head ninth graders picking on him and leaving him cowering and sniveling. And then I have to go and give those kids bloody noses because bullying Amaimon is a copyright privilege that only the ones who live with him have the patent for. And then I have to get suspended and face Daddy's wrath. SO it's best if I don't bear witness anymore.

And so concludes the end of my description of the Sailor Senshii. The one with a lack of apathy might ask about my characteristics. Well, before this tale is over, you will know all you wish to know about me. And since I cannot risk the disinterest of my audience with any more ramblings about my family, allow me to commence the telling. We begin with myself, fifteen, years old and strawberry-blond racing through the school campus after final bell, with an enraged Samael close by, thirsty for my blood.


	6. Back-Track to the Beginning

Picture the heroine of this story, Your's Truly, in all her glory, racing to reach the elevator on the other side of the fifth floor of her school. Her strawberry blond, shoulder-blade-lenth slightly curly hair is bouncing around with all the momentum of a child on cocaine. Forced to abandon her hello kitty backpack in her locker, and her brand new plastic slip-ons in the vast swirling black hole of the fifth floor hallway. While maintaining beauty is often affordable, in the cases of emergency like the one now, one usually ends up cashing it in for adrenaline.

With fear staining her eyes, and the puzzled ones of everybody in True Cross Academy staining her back, she has naught but one goal on her mind. _Get to the elevator and go into the school lobby. You will be safe there._

Following behind your valiant heroine is her evil older brother, Samael in fast pursuit. Where Jezebel King had to swerve and slither her way through the crowd of schoolchildren relieved from class, Samael cuts through it like it is nonexistent. He has honed in on his defenseless prey and his bizarrely sharp canines are grinding each other flat and his eyes are twisted and contorted with rage and a thirst for irrational revenge. Few have lived to see such an expression on Samael's face and lived to tell the tale. It would be wise for the witnesses to take photos of it while they can. They could make some serious money off of it.

And with that image in mind, my dear reader, you may now witness the successive turn of events that unfolded.

He with logical thinking might be tempted to inquire just exactly why my flamboyant clown of a brother was on a hunt for my lifeblood. To answer your question, his desire might be traced back to the fact that last night (the night before he was to give his History presentation on European Imperialism) I had borrowed his laptop to store several pictures that I had taken of him cuddling his enormous plushie of My Little Pony's Rarity, pleasuring himself to a picture of Sailor Moon, singing karaeoke to "Hello Kitty" by Avril Lavinge and an unsent love letter I found in his diary, dedicated to his dashing classmate, Shiro. Being the klutz I am with anything technological, I ended up storing these pictures on his slideshow as well as deleting the existing ones.

Throughout the whole presentation, Samael didn't even realize the replacement. In the midst of all his conceit and putting on of haughty airs in delivering it, he didn't even bother to look at the presentation slides as he was delivering. He just left each one up there for a good five minutes while he paraded around the classroom, with his eyes half closed, (no doubt because he wanted to convey the idea that he wasn't nervous at all) It wasn't until the end of his presentation when he was taking questions and a rather sarcastic girl with a poorly done red dye job over her (still visible) blond hair inquired about what the Sepoy rebellion had to do with his being a perverted manchild, that he finally developed a question mark at the back of his head. Confuzzled, he asked his teacher. The orange-haired TA with squared glasses (who was operating the slideshows) had to stuff his fist in her mouth to keep from laughing as he showed Samael the slideshow. His eyes nearly convulsed out of his purple head.

At this point, you may be wondering dear reader, what a sophomore like our heroine (Your's Truly) would be doing in a Senior's classroom in order to witness the amusing spectacle. My answer is that the god of Revenge must have been proud of my patronage and as a reward, allowed me to reap the rewards of my prank by watching it go into action. As luck perchance would have it, my teacher in my sixth period class, wanted me to go to the third floor to deliver a note to a Senior teacher. The content of the note was none of my business and I pride myself to say that I did not stoop so low as to read it. What I did do however, was walk by Samael's classroom upon my departure from the senior floor just in time to see the last few minutes of his presentation. Perhaps I shouldn't have stuck around for as long as I did. Had I not done so, perhaps Samael would be unsure of which one of his siblings was the unSub who comitted this injustice towards him and as the reader who enjoys Crime drama may have long ago discovered "the detective with many suspects has no clue"

But I suppose the God of Vengeance was disgusted in my overindulgence of witnessing an excellent prank. I believe the appropriate term in this scenario is Revenge-Gluttony. Whatever the theory, Samael's neck was overcome with an epiphany and began turning left and right in spastic movements. And at one point he turned his head in an angle that was complementary to my direction. And his eyes were laid on myself.

I turned on my heels and power walked up to the fifth floor as fast as possible but the damage was done. Samael had seen me and come to the assumption that I was the guilty culprit. Unfortunately for Your's Truly, if you dangle even the slightest trace of a clue in front of Samael, his mind will go into overdrive, calculating assumptions and theories until he comes to a justifiable conclusion. In this case, he was right.

But I suppose that I must have had a dash of favor curried from Lady Luck left that I put into good use. There was ten minutes before Final Bell, forcing Samael to remain in class and watch another classmate's presentation (someone told me that his teacher has a no-leaving-class policy) so I didn't have to worry about him excusing himself to chase after me. I raced back up to my classroom and packed my things up in advance. I used up the last dollop of Lady Luck's favor when my teacher (god bless his kind soul) decided to let the class out early, giving me ample time to pack my things into my locker. I could go back to get them later. Right now, my number one priority was to exit the school and hide somewhere that Samael couldn't find me. The Sophomore classes are all stashed into one wing of the school so Samael would know exactly where to look for me. I needed to get out of the Sophomore wing and fast.

I had barely closed my locker door when the bell went off in a bone-scrunching cacophony and the sophomore hallway was infested with students. I barely had time to curse under my breath, when in the mid of the flurry of 10th graders, I made out a violet haircut, a snow-white outfit, and a pair of glowering green eyes. They were narrowed with rage and getting meters closer to my location by the nanosecond. If I hadn't bowled over three people in my attempt to set myself in motion, I would be dead meat by now. I ran. Not powerwalked. Not scooted. I ran.


	7. Just When He Thought I Was Cornered

And now that you have been up-to-dated with the events responsible for triggering the image I told you to visualize, allow me to unfreeze the mental screenshot and continue my interpretation of the events to come

I was running amok, in a psychologically darkened frenzy. The dim but steadfast goal in the back of my head, was barely retaining my ability to think clearly. But tsunamis of terror were consuming me, growing more constant and insistent with every passing collapse, ominously threatening to extinguish my goal. The amount of willpower required to shelter my logical thinking from the rapidly impending hysteria was the equivalence of physical endurance I had to exert on my legs to keep them moving. Trying to refine and manipulate the raw, adrenaline-fueled energy toward the direction of the elevator, easily outranked the task of harnessing it. And this would have been difficult enough without having to navigate through the fluid, shifting, throng of students.

Ominously, my brother's presence loomed above me, like a homosexual vampire-bat. With each tolling second that passed with a pondering pound, stake of hysteria was being pinned deeper and deeper into my core. Panic was rapidly gaining the upper hand in it's arm wrestling match with my sanity and if I didn't reach the elevator soon, my strength would run out, my knees would buckle , and I would fall to the ground where Samael would swoop down on me like an otaku vulture, ready to pick my bones dry. I could see the scenario playing out before my eyes so vividly, for every second that I didn't feel my knees kiss the floor, I wanted so fling my praises to my lucky stars.

But then...ahead of me...with it's buttons softly pulsating at the end of the semi-dark corridor lay the elevator like a lighthouse on a stormy sea. It was all I could do to not squeal a sigh of relief. Forcing my knees to spurt ahead, foolishly expunging the last stores of my energy, I sprinted at a breakneck pace towards the elevator-and let out a cry of despair.

Three feet ahead of me, in pasted on the elevator door in scarlet letters were the dreaded words "Out of Order" Helplessly, I swiveled my neck towards the other door-and that held the same words.

"IT WAS FINE WHEN I TOOK IT THIS MORNING!" I shrieked internally. I rotated my body to see Samael rapidly advancing towards me, a sharklike grin on his ugly face. Within seconds, he would be standing in my location, ready to put me through hell or worse-oblivion. He had sensed my dismay and his conniving mind had reached the conclusion that I had nowhere to go. His elven eyes were dangerously slanted and a blind man could see the calculations forming behind them. The calculations a hunter makes when it knows that it's prey is good a caught. When it begins indulging itself in the desire to count it's chickens right before they've hatched. No doubt he was imagining what he would do with me when he finished.

He was extending his fingers towards me...his clawlike appendages were reaching out to delve into my soft, perfect flesh. He was calmly reaching it out in the manner that a friend reaches out to you to lend you support. An alternative to the way you are choosing whatever predicament you are in that can be solved by them. But the only other solution I had besides accepting my fate was...the staircase...the staircase..._.the stairs_!

How could I have been such a fool? In my misery at finding the elevator beyond the means of service... I had completely forgotten about the existence of the stairs. A beacon of hope flashed across my heavey heart, levitating it ever so slightly. But I forced myself to stomach the euphoria. If I was going to get past my demonic brother, I needed a plan...

Oh to hell with a plan! By the time my slow-witted mind formulated one out of the turd pile that was my intellect, Mephisto would have long dragged me off to my doom. The only plan I needed was in the form of the window of opportunity rapidly shrinking in area...RUN GOSH DARN IT!

And as the little voice in the back of my head shrilled the latter command, I broke out of the paralyzed mold I had found myself fossilized in seconds earlier . And as it shattered into a million pieces of the past, they recombined to form a new me. A me who was invigorated, and dauntless. She swirled around in a ninety degree angle and shot off in the direction of the staircase at a breakneck pace, absorbing every ounce of confidence there was too acquire from my half- brother's stunned expression (one that I would also suggest any onnlookers to photograph as it was also a rarity to behold) as I practically dashed like a gazelle out of his peripheral vision range.

"Haha!" I shouted triumphantly, apathetic to the raised eyebrows from my fellow students.

"I hope your brains didn't get so dulled as to think you had actually cornered the elusive, incredible Jezebel! Sucker!"


	8. Connor O'Lange

Once I dashed into the staircase, I allowed myself to mingle with the vast flock of students huddling down the staircase. I breathed in the bustling energy of the packed array of students, amiably chattering amongst each other, perhaps letting off all the potential energy generated by the stress they were experiencing in class moments earlier. As I nhaled the energy I converted it into comfort and revelled in the sensation. Even if Mephisto followed me,the enormous protective membrane of ambling,absent-minded students would defnitely make his simultaneously reaching my location. The moment I reached the third floor, I threw a fleeting glance over my shoulder and noticed my brother grunting and still struggling to get through the massive array of people. I snickered at the thought of his apparent dismay at people walking over his starchy white shoes (at this point I should probably point out that he is incredibly claustrophobic and can't bear the thought of his evidently sacred clothing being defiled by anybody hands besides his holiness's own) Chirping like a bird, I fluttered my way over to the other staircase on the other side of the third floor lobby, flitted up it like I was walking on air, returned to the fifth floor, retrrieved my backback, unearthed my shoes in the now-mostly-deserted corridor, and scooted back down to the main lobby.

My heart was triumphant over my hard-earned victory and it took every fiber of my being not to burst into a musical number. I had to remind myself that I'd probably be held accountable for everyone within a ten mile radius's hearing-related injuries. As I darted out the school exit, I had come to the conclusion that I had to find a way to diffuse off this swell of triumph or it would build up inside my body until it burst my skin...And with the way I was feeling, I must say I didn't particularly feel like I am exaggerating as I tell you this.

"I know!" I thought cheekily to myself.

"I'll go over to the local Starbucks and celebrate with the indulgence of mass-produced coffee at the expense of third-world laborers and minumum-wage baristas!"

This was a rather inteligent idea on my part. (I swear, my brain was never failingto provide me with ingenious ideas today! I guess that I had generated so much brain power via studying for my third-period exam that I had an excess to spare! I never cease to be full of bonuses! Of course wonderful people have that habit!) The reason why I was thrilled with my extraordinary mind for this irredescant brainwave was because Starbucks was really the best place to be. By remaining there for a while, I could allow Samael to bust his white-suited butt on a fruitless quest to detect my location within the school campus. And nothing gives me greater satisfaction in life than watching my imbeciles of brothers pointlessly exerting themselves. Especially when their object of exertion is litttle old moi! Also, should Mephisto decide to come to the conclusion that I was no longer on the premises, his dull little brain would formulate a theory that I had decided to arrive home. When he returned to the house and presumably charged into my room to put me through whatever punishment he had devised, he would walk in on Beelzebub, who (if my prediction based on his schedule was correct) was in his room poring over his specimens. And should my little brother have to suffer an outburst in the middle of his fieldwork, he could get...irritated. And I would be too far out of reach to find myself caughtin the crossfire of the events that would be undergone next... So not only would Starbucks allow me an outlet for my rapidly mounting euphoria, but I would be able to avoid being caught up in the chaos that was going to take place as surely as tomorrow! So perhaps now Dear Reader, yo can understand the intelligence of my simple yet revolutionary strategy and realize that my mind's ego was well deserving of stroking.

With that happy thought in mind I flounced over to the local Starbucks and treated myself to a Pumpkin-spice latte. I'm no scientist but indulge my theory about the sensation of triumph amplifying your five senses by five times maximum potential" To simplify my statement for the reader with a lack of brain cells, that coffee was deelish! I can't recall the last time I enjoyed a pumpkin spice latte to the extent with which I was doing so in my post-escape state!

I was desperately trying not to get to absorbed in the practically prophetic vision involving Sammy and Beelze so that my subconscious would not get the notion that I was permitting slurping (not even humiliating public defeat of a lady's brother is an exuse for her to behave like a pig)

Suddenly a shadow loomed over me. I glanced up to see a boy from Samael's History class grinning at me. I recognized him from when I wad spying on the fiasco of a presentation. He was in the front row, and unless my memory decided to hit me then and there with my daily dose of amnesia, I was tempted to believe that he had tears of laughter running down his face. His reaction was almost as pricless as the spectacle of Samael prancing around unbeknownst of the picture hovering behind him with content involving him passionately engaging in x-rated activities with Hatsune Miku.

Mentally clamping down on my cheek muscles in an iron vice to keep from reacting to the flashback, I decided that my acknowledgement of the boy's prescence was long overdue. I culled the urge to snigger like an idiot in the abided time bought with smoothing my skirt, tucking lone strands of my hair beneath my ears, and wiping off the facial latte on my lip.

"Can I help you" I enquired sweetly, harnessing a droplet of my recalled amusement to generate a demure giggle.

The boy sheepishly grinned at me in retaliation

"Umm...yeah. You're Mephisto's little sister, right?"

"Mephisto?" I asked...

I wasn't sure how this boy remembered my brother. If his representative memory was of my brother's performance in RandJ, I could easily deny any relation to Mephisto. After all, he technically was called Samael so it wouldn't be a falsehood to assert that nobody in my family was Christened by that namesake.

My preparation to deny my shared lineage turned out to be in vain because the boy seemed to just want me to "say my lines" so he could continue his own speech (no doubt also thought out beforehand )

"You staged that little prank on him didn't you in History Class, didn't you? Don't play dumb"

Only a coward refuses to take credit for their work in front of a fan. The students in my school avoid Samael like the plague so the risk of a vengeful BF was out of the picture. All the same, wariness could come before outright admission. The kid could be on a mission to defend that Shiro kid's honor. I had no idea about his level on the popularity meter, so the theory wasn't insane. The reserving tactic saved my hide on numerous occasions.

"Oh, you must mean my half-brother Samael. What made you suspect me of this so called prank?"

The boy chuckled as though he had anticapated my response beforehand.

"Calm your tits, Honey. I'm not ratting you out. I saw Samael chasing you after school with fire in his eyes, muttering about how his sister had gone too far. I also saw you outside the classroom practically pissing yourself with laughter during the presentation "

"And it didn't occur to you that I was a bystander who stumbled upon the affair during her return from a note delivery?"I purred, enjoying the game I was formulating with this boy.

"If you were a bystander, I highly doubt Mephisto would be chasing after you. "

"Maybe I was in the wrong place at the wrong time? And Samael just chose me to take his rage out on?" I suggested, calmly.

The boy sighed. He was no simpleton. I wasn't going to give myself in, and I wasn't going to erase the doubt the he was a friend of Shiro trying to defend his honor. He was smart enough to sense it. Which is good because had he continued this ridiculous interrogation, I would have inferred that he was a stubborn fool and left. It is my policy not to stress my larynx and vocal chords in conversation with those with IQs less than mine unless absolutely necessary

The boy's exasperation was masked by an easygoing grin a little too quickly.

"Well, I really don't see how anybody outside of Mephisto's siblings would pull a prank like that on him. Sao on the off chance that it was one who isn;t you, could you tell them I said thanks?"

"Thanks?"

"For pulling off the funniest shiznit ever occur this year. Not only did you make a World History presentation enjoyable for the first time for myself, but now when the Final comes up, the information will be nicely and firmly drilled into my head. It's hard to forget about Chinese trade routes when the person talking about them has a picture of them spanking to anime characters behind them"

I permitted myself to snigger at the memory

"Yeah, I doubt anybody won't remember that" I admitted.

"Little Miss Muffet's ego was totally deflated after his presentation. It was totally deserving. Normally on presentation days, he sits at his desk practically leering at all of us who go up. He might as well be shouting at the top of his lungs that all of our projects are inferior to his. And unfortunately, he's justifeied. No matter what any of us do, we can't hold a candle to his work. Over the year, his head's been getting more and more swollen each time he delievers. If you (I mean the culprit) hadn't messed up his project, then all of us would have been crushed to death by the size of his colossal head. But after he went up, he was so embarrassed and ashamed that he really couldn't sneer at anybody else who went up (including me)The prankster saved all of our lives and they have my eternal thanks for that "

I felt the the start of a question mark being etched into my skull.

"Little Miss...Muffet?"

"Oh yeah, that's what all the seniors call your brother. "

"HA!" I guffawed._ Hello, new insult-ammo _

followed by a moment of feaux flusteredness followed by a few fingers finding my lips in a fake folly shame.

"You're pretty funny"I admitted.

"You think I'm kidding? I'm not. While he was waiting to go up, his head was getting larger and larger with each passing moment as he imagined how he'd outshine us. My only regret is that he didn't go up sooner. Then we wouldn't have been so close to death when it was finally his turn."

"Well, I wish I could say I share your regret, but if he hadn't presented when he had, I never would have seen the prank go down. Sorry."

"Don't be" The boy assured me.

"After he gave his project, our teacher was laughing so hard that he couldn't concentrate on anybody else's project so he decided to delay the last unshared presenters's presentations until tomorrow so he could have an extra day to regain his composure. So, I get an extra day to practice. Hey! That's something I need to thank the perp for as well!"

By now, I was smiling at the thought of how much good I had done today. I felt like I was being filled to the brim with liquid sunshine and fuzzy bunnies. I really wanted to directly accept the praise that was rightfully mine. Choosing to walk away from praise and thanks would be the rough equivalent to turning down a million dollars. Only an idiot would do so.

"I think the culprit already knows about your gratitude" I said bashfully.

The boy's face brightened considerably.

"I knew it was you!" He exclaimed.

"You're not gonna tell the higher ups like your teacher are you?" I asked with a paper cut edging into my voice.

The boy looked as though he would sooner eat his feces.

"Why would I do that?"

I shrugged.

"Are you kidding? Nothing gives me greater satisfaction that watching Samael's ego erection get deflated! Why would I wanna screw over the bearer of such heavenly news?"

"Someone's going drama queen"

"Forgive me for finding opportunities to use sophisticated language" He huffed, indignantly.

"Someone's starting to sound like_, 'Little Miss Muffet' _"

"GAH!" Squawked the boy as he encased in hands around his mouth.

"Quick! Somebody give me some acid to soak my mouth in!"

I sighed theatrically

"Relax. Your are not even close to the level of foolish fluency retained by that fatheaded clown"

"Whew! Dodged a bullet there! Remember when he came to school in a cape...in September?"

And that is how I spent the next ten minutes engaging in humiliating recollection's of my brother's antics with a handsome brown-haired, blue-eyed senior. Unearthing painful memories had never felt so enjoyable.

After we finished laughing over the fond reminiscence of the time a school Jock had given Samael a wedgie in the middle of his speech as the opening speaker in the Back-to-School Assembly, I forced myself to ask the awkward question of what he would prefer to be addressed by.

He flashed me a smile that would be more likely to be found on a male celebrity promoting a toothpaste commercial.

"My name's Connor O'Lange*"

His hair gave off the illusion that it was the stuff of chocolate clouds in candy heaven.

His eyes were the color of the sky in the middle of a perfect day.

Just thinking of similes for his celestial appearance. made Your's Truly experience the sensation of her internal organs deteriorating. Symptoms included a rush of blood surging through the vessels below her face.

"Um...I'm Jezebel. But uh...you can call me Jizzy"

(What was I thinking! I hadn't asked anybody to call me Jizzy since my sixth birthday! That was a childish pet-name Father had bestowed upon me and the only one who had the patent. That was a nickname I asked people to call me whenever I, in my childish whims wanted to have unnecessary affection directed toward me. I swore to my brothers that I'd punch them if they referred to me with that nickname! So why was I asking this boy who I had just met- )

"Jizzy?"

I bolted upright upon relfex with the inquiring yes rolling off my tongue by default.

"Uh...would it be weird if I asked you if you'd like to please meet me again next Friday after school? Here?"

It took every ounce of willpower not to emit a fangirl-esque wail followed by the "Of course! I love you! I-I mean I'd love to! Did you even have to _ask_?"

"Um...sure." I stuttered, on the verge of incoherency. What I said next made me want to rip out my vocal chords and flatten them to a pulp

"W-would it um...be...weird...if-if I-I-I asked you to...um...walk with-me...to...my...home?"

Connor flashed me another celebrity grin and as he did so, I felt as though my chest was getting assaulted with a rainbow unicorn.

"I'd love to"

And that's how me and the self-designated cutest guy in school spent another fifteen minutes laughing at Samael's expense. Of course, dismissed my handsome escort with a "Thanks for coming out with me this far! I can take it from here! See you later!" No way in hell was I going to take him to the fdoorway and allow him a glimpse of my chaotic household.

I'm proud to say that the I allowed my spirits to rise as high as they could in the euporia experienced walking up the driveway. Because if I hadn't, in the events that followed after opening my front door, they would have plummeted below sea level, never to rise up again.

Connor O'Lange is a reference to Cuchulain, an Irish war hero of legend. If you want to find some major foreshadowing, to a little reading up on him, particularly on his death.


	9. Final Capture

As I walked in through the house via front door, I found myself regretting the decision and wishing that I'd gone through the back instead.

"I see you've got yourself a boyfriend. Clearly in the closet. I see you still can't afford to raise your standards above guys in denial" drawled Egyn from the living room sofa, excruciatingly examining his nails.

"Ok, one: He's not my boyfriend! and two; it's nice to have my beloved big brother boost my self esteem by assuring me that the only way a guy could ever want to go out with me is if he is secretly gay and thinks I look like a guy!" I snapped.

"I'm asking you this because once your boyfriend realizes that he has a thing for masculine looking girls and begins craving the secret filling, I'd be happy to give him the male-on-male experience with a girl. Let's hope he's still embarrassed about his sexuality and doesn't go right to the "I'm here I'm queer get used to it" mentality" Purred Egyn, no-doubt ignoring every syllable I had just uttered.

"Oh, my god, Egyn! You're disgusting!" I shouted.

"This is why boys in school refuse to ask me out! Can't I associate with somebody of the opposite gender without you formulating ways to exploit their conflicted sexual identit-HEY WAIT A MINUTE WERE YOU SPYING ON ME FROM THE WINDOW!?"

Egyn shrugged nonchalantly with one hand and ruffled his ugly turquoise wig*

"Guilty as charged. But don't worry babycakes, I'd _never_ **_ever_** invest my time in you out of my own free will"

I had no idea on how to respond to the cruel quip without making a fool of myself in the process.

"I was only on sentry duty for you because Sammy noticed that I happened to be in the perfect position to do so, being able to see out the window while watching reruns of Gossip Girl, and he paid me five bucks to give him a shoutout if I saw you get your blond self around the street corner. And here I was, getting up to turn off the tv when I noticed you being escorted by that heartthrob"

I felt my heart gain palpitations that threatened to rip it free of the confines of my ribs.

"Shiznit!" I muttered.

"Come again, sweetheart?" Inquired Egyn, not having looked up from his nails.

"I was too busy not giving a what about anything you had to say unless it was to give me Mr. Dreamboat's number"

As much as the indignated part of me wanted to, I couldn't affford to waste anymore time sassing with Egyn. No doubt, he had already harkened to Mephisto about my presence. The only explanation as to why he hadn't caught me already was because he was walking in slowmo. Any second now he could snap back into our time-dimension and I'd be DOOMED WITH A CAPITAL D! I had to run! I had stashed a runaway backpack in the park under my favorite tree when I was nine years old after a fight with Father. With any luck it would be still there and I could run to the park, grab it, and spend the night at my best friend Amy's house. But I had to get going now! Good thing I had left my shoes on!

I turned around.

_"NO don't go through the front! HE'LL BE EXPECTING YOU! HE'LL BE WAITING! HE'S PROBABLY WAITING THERE NOW! GO THROUGH THE BACK!" _The little voice in the back of my head shrieked just as I was about to pivot on my axis.

I whirled around in midair and practically dashed through the air in my attempt to reach the screen door. Only to find Azazel grinning cheerfully at me as he jumped up and down like a kid at his birthday party.

"MEPHY! MEPHY! SHE'S HERE! SHE'S COMING TO THE SCREEN DOOR JUST LIKE YOU SAID SHE WAS AND I CAUGHT HER ALL BY MYSELF! JUST LIKE YOU WANTED ME TOO! I DID GOOD! YESIREE! YESIREEEEE!"

"KYAH!" I squawked and pivoted midair towards the front door-and I had to paractically force myself backwards to keep from bumping into Iblis.

"Where you going sis?" Grinned the redhead maliciously.

"Samael wants to talk to you"

"Get out of my way, dipwad!" I whimpered, on the verge of hysteria.

"Make me" He crooned

As I was gathering potential energy for the kick I planned to aim between his legs, a gloved hand compressed firmly onto my shoulder, turning every blood vessel under the skin there to turn to ice.

My body sensed the loss of circulation and I gasped upon reflex. I swiveled my neck around to see Samael's Cheshire cat's leer, and eyes that seemed to reach into my soul, draw it out of my body, and stab numerous times in my field of vision.

I whimpered softly, my whole body turning into mush. I desperately tried to avert my gaze, but it was like trying to do so with a basilisk or medusa.

For what felt like a dozen eternities, my brother's perverse smirk and murderous glare were penetrating me in silence. I seriously wondered if his plan of revenge was to terrify me into death.

Finally, he opened his sharklike mouth and began to speak, softly, but keenly, his words searing through my heart like a needle.

"You conniving...irritating...barbarous...heathen" whispered my brother.

"Do...you...have...any...idea...of the level of...defilement...you've..afflicted...to...my...reputation?"

I squirmed and forced my mouth to open it...I forced myself to gather what was left of my scattered guts and creakily opened my mouth...unhinged my jaw...

"Ah-ah" I stuttered.

"Go on" prodded my brother.

"Ah...ah...ah...AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" I shrieked like a Banshee in Samael's face as loud as I could. He cringed and forced his hand to cover his ears. I took excellent advantage of the opportunity and prepared to continue my crusade to the park when his hand reclamped down on my arm.

I squealed as his grip grew tighter and tighter

"Get away from me...let go...let...go...you're hurting me..."

"You are more than deserving of this agony..." Hissed my brother.

"It is ten times less than the amount you've inflicted on me"

"Egyn! Iblis! Help me!" I shrilled, sacrificing the last level of dignity I had saved up within the family.

"Sorry sis, I have _simply_ _got_ to find out what happens in this next chapter of Pretty Little Liars" called Egyn, just as an apathetic "nah" rolled off Iblis's tongue like water off a duck's back.

"Do you know what it's like to have the whole class think you're an extraterrestrial psychopath and possible sex offender?" whispered Samael.

"No, because _I'm_ not the one who revealed their _doll collection_ to my entire world history class!" I protested. I then winced as the force holding down my arm was amplified with each passing word.

"Why you insensitive little brat! My fellow classmates spent the rest of the period snickering and leering at me with the air of a pack of hyenas. Even our teacher, ceased the presentations to be able to continue his mocking my private affairs!"

"If by affairs, do you mean you cosplaying as an anime character?" I knew that I was in grave danger but I couldn't resist reminding my brother that his whole class saw him dressed like a girl.

"You told the whole class about his cosplaying! You evil little genious! Wish I'd thought of that before!" Remarked Iblis*, with a bark of laughter! Feeling my courage rejuvenate, I craned my neck to look at him slapping his thighs.

"Oh no. Iblis. I did no such thing!" I responded cooly.

"Sammy here, showed the whole class himself when he presented his history project"

"I would have never made such a mockery of myself willingly! And need I remind you that I am Mephisto now?" Squawked Samael.

"You hijacked the slideshow and replaced my visual aids with those pictures! Don't even try to play the part of the blameless martyr! I know you were the villain behind this dastardly scheme to slander my reputation!"

"AND YOU UPLOADED THE PRIVATE LETTER I WROTE IN AN INTIMATE MOMENT TO THE CUTEST BOY IN THE SCHOOL!"

"And by "intimate moment" do you mean you were _ to his yearbook picture?" I retorted, harvesting insult-ammo from his blushing face.

"I SIT NEXT TO HIM " Shrieked Samael, losing all composure.

"HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO FACE HIM THE NEXT TIME I SEE HIM"

"Avoid eye contact like your life depends on it" I sagely advised.

"Why you insensitive, inconsiderate, spiteful little wench!" cried out Samael. Was it just me or were his eyes starting to look a little shiny...?

"You've slandered my reputation. One that took years to assemble..." he repeated

"Don't worry. You ruined it all by yourself the moment when you told everybody to start calling you after a character in Shakespeare" I whispered comfortingly.

My brother recoiled and the dying down fire in his eyes was galvanized. He was breathing heavily as though I had stabbed him in the llungs and every word out of his mouth was causing him endless pain. He began excreting ragged strips of breath as though he'd punctured a lung. His vicelike grip on my shoulder was practically popping the veins below that patch of skin out. I could feel it.

"**GOETHE!**" Samael shrieked, in practical hysterics.

"**THE CHARACTER WHOSE NAMESAKE I GO BY IS FROM A WORK BY _GOETHE!_**"

"ok ok. Goat. Then. Who cares?" I added urgently, eager to shush my brother. I could see from the corners of my eyes that the neighbors were starting to peer out of their windows into our house.

**"GOETHE! GO-ETHE! FOR THE LOVE OF GEHENNA USE THE PROPER PRONOUNCIATION WHEN YOU SAY THE AUTHOR'S NAME! HOW CAN ANYBODY BE SO BACKWARDS IN LITERATURE!? HOW DARE YOU CASUALLY DISREGARD YOUR TONGUESLAUGHTER OF THE NAME OF THE MOST EXPETIONALLY TALENTED LITERATURE ARTIST OF ALL TIME!"**

"_Samael, the neighbors are watching_" I moaned.

"LET THEM WATCH! LET THEIR PIGGISH MINDS BE INTRODUCED TO A TASTE OF CLASSIC LITERATURE FOR ONCE!"

I moaned again. One neighbor looked like he was about to come over to our house and check up on us...****_To be contiued  
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* Egyn's hair was always looking so put together regardless of the circumstance, I was under serious suspicions about it being an artificial, outside source

*Once you got Egyn's temper reined in, he could actually be a decent prank ally.


	10. Daddy's Home

**Hey everybody! Sorry that I've put off writing for so long! I've been busy! But don't worry! I promise I'll update more frequently!**

_**P.S, I just realized that the pronounciation of Goethe is not actually "go-eth" like the name suggests (in regards to the reference from my last chapter) but "Gur-tuh" So yeah... I feel stupid. Just in case any of you book nerds were going crazy over that...**_

With the impending humiliation of what the neighbor whould think if he came over to find my brother throwing a hissy fit over German literature that nobody cared about, pounding in the back of my head, I used all the potential energy in my leg for the kick I had saved up for Iblis to enter the crotch of Samael instead. Even after I had made contact, I took extra precaution to leave my foot in the valley for a few seconds just to make sure any energy had not been able to diffuse it's way in on the kick.

As if on cue, Sammy let out a shriek that sounded anything but human and loosened his grip on my shoulder. As he fell to his knees, I smirked at my handiwork (as mentioned before, _I'd rather tear my hair out myself_ than walk away without being credited for my fine work)

Iblis flashed my agonized brother an infuriatingly fake wistful smile.

"Looks like she gave you her nut kick. Hurt's don't it?"

It was common knowledge amongst my brothers that if they found their special spots on the other end of my shoe, they should treat their future offspring as gifts from gods*.

I had no more time to spare among my groveling brother, however. I pushed past a snickering Iblis and opened the door. Samael's consecutive screech following my nutkick had sent poor old Mr. Dawes into acceleration mode. I opened the door right after I had rapidly calculated a justifiable excuse and smiled at the worried face of the father of one of my babysitting charges.

"_Hello Mr. Dawes_! I'm sorry to disturb you with the little commotion. Egyn passed some gas after eating a burrito while bending down in front of Samael"

"WHAT!?" shrieked Egyn in the distance. On that historic day, he finally raised his voice.

"I apologize on his behalf!" I smiled and daintily closed the door before Mr. Dawes came up with any further interrogation questions.

I heaved a sigh in relief and patted myself on the back for the way I processed and dealt with that little conundrum.

"What in the hell is all the ruckus" came a slightly nasal, cold-as-steel voice.

"Oh, ! #$%^&" I groaned as I turned towards the stairs.

Towering above me (or in this case, stairing) was Beelzebub, looking daggers at me. Judging by his stance, it would not be completely foolish to suggest his completion of completing the conquest of an empire.

"I have been hearing loud noises and commotions downstairs over and over again today._ Do you know what loud noise and commotions does to my children?_"

Your's Truly was very flustered from maintaining her family's reputation and from trying to escape the clutches of a now-whimpering Samael, a now lying face down in a puddle of laughter Iblis, and a now- incredibly irritated and disgruntled Egyn. She really didn't feel like dealing with another social reject of a brother. In fact, she had long surpassed her "three-brothers-dealt-with-per-day" limit. She had had enough of them.

"I really couldn't care less about your 'children' Beelzebub. And really, after all the _I've had to go trough today, I don't think you should blame me. P.S, they're not children. They are insects who you have picked out of the dirt. They are not your children. Unless you're a stud with bugs, where you are the plague with human girls In which case, that's pathetic"

I regretted the words the moment they tumbled out my mouth.

With his hands balled into fists and his eyes shooting a death glare, he began rapidly advancing down the stairs. If Samael looked frightening when angry, Beelzebub looked downright heartstopping. Any fear I had experienced when Samael was nothing more than a measly shot of adrenaline in comparison to this.

I wanted to run more than I had wanted a pony for my fifth birthday...but alas, Beelzebub's temper had the ability to freeze it's victims to the spot. I feebly tried to break the invisible bonds holding me in place but to no avail. Hopelessly, I closed my eyes and embraced my impending doom. He was rapidly advancing towards me.

When he was in a hair's width from myself he whispered, "Take. That. Back. You. _" in a voice that sizzled with spicy, simmering, swiftly surfacing, rage.

And just like that the front door swung open and the glorious angel of redemption that was my father appeared in the house. I felt my heart lift out of the desolate deposit of despair it was drenched in. I was saved!

With a dry sob of relief, I swung my arms around him and collapsed from the strugggle.

"Daddy! I missed you so much!" I squealed in an Azie-esque manner.

"I was so scared! Beelzebub was going to hurt me! I He was yelling at me and I told him to leave me alone, and he called me a female dog! If you hadn't come back, who knows what would have happened!?"

After permitting my clingy embrace for a reasonable time period, my father gently-but-firmly pushed me away.

"Funny you should bring up Beelzebub, Jezebel" He said grimly.

"I happen to have a bone to pick with him as well"

*When growing up with eight brothers who delighted in tormenting me every chance they had, and knowing that Lucifer wouldn't always be around to give them astronomical visions every time I shed a tear and pointed a finger, it didn't take particularly long for a precocious child like myself to come to the conclusion that I needed to hone my own technique to exert my authority over the pack of dogs I shared room and board with. And ever since the day when I tried to reach a doll Egyn had taken from my grasp, I had been practicing my precision and accuracy to aim cannon balls in the southern region. Five years later, and it had become something of a legend among my little pack of dogs.


	11. Father

And now my Dear Reader, we have reached the inevitable point in my little memoir in which you are introduced to my father.

To describe my father in one sentence would be like trying to accurately describe color to a blind person or the concept of humility to Kanye West. Thus, I feel like in order to accurately construct a portrayal would be to take a break from the events of my little tale and devote a little anecdote to the only person in my house who I could not only tolerate, but whose company I enjoyed. It is only fitting, considering I did the same with most of my brothers.

My father was unlike most of my friend's male parents. In fact, he was unlike most men his age in my town. (Or on the planet for that matter) To determine where to begin in my mission to establish these differences would be like trying to determine the location of a needle in a haystack. But I will try my best. Allow me to begin with the basics; his appearance.

For starters, my father had pure white hair. Do not associate it with a pale blond shade like Azazel or Astaroth's, Dear Reader, for your visualization will be terribly inaccurate. His hair was the pure blunt white that usually represented the arrival of old age. But aside from the pigmentation of this hair, he did not give off the slightest indication that he was going to kick the bucket anytime soon. It was also styled in a rather uncanny format, in a masculine pixie-cut, save for two strands of hair originating at his temples and extending beyond the length of his face to the extent of which he could have entwined them in a knot if he so desired. His eyes were the strangest shade of electric blue that was rarely found outside fantasy videogames. I had often found myself pondering over the theory that like my emo-half brother, he too, donned color contacts. Even to this day, the pondering has yet to cease. In addition to his hair color, they were so incredibly narrow and slanted that if they had looked even a tiny bit more so, he could have passed for Asian. However, they seemed to come to an abrupt stop between the Euro-Asian borderline. Hence, the reason I believed we were of Russian descent (I am not wrong)

Aside from his eyes, my father's face was the most attractive one within my family. What with his prominent jaw, his chiseled features, and slashed eyebrows, he would not looked out of place on the cover of a fantasy teenlit paperback, embracing some scrawny, author's pet.

(Ok I totally regret saying that. Now I can't get the image out of my head and I think I'm about to puke. I'll need a moment)

Resuming the story, my father was incredibly well built for somebody of his age; where most of my friends fathers were beginning to develop paunches and chest hair, well past the start of their decline from youth, he had a perfectly waxed six-pack, usually foreshadowed via the opening of a v-neck. It was for this reason that I hated when my Father came to my school (usually for Samael's plays) Because I would always have to bear the gut-wrenching feeling of hearing a gaggle of promiscuous, up-and-coming streetwalker seniors giggling and cooing over him behind us (no matter where we sat they always knew where we were located and managed to procure the previous seats) And the next day I would have to face the wrath of the principal for rubbing wet wipes all over their artificially-constructed clown-faces in retaliation to their attempts to use me as a means for obtaining our home number. But I digress.

None of us could ever figure out what my father did for a living. Every time we asked him, he would give us a different answer. The effects of this emerged in moments like when I got a time out in second grade for punching a prissy brat who dared to doubt my claim that my Father was an international spy. He never apologized for that. Whatever my father did for a living, it definitely raked in a lot of money (which is to be expected of a Princeton graduate like himself) Otherwise, how else would my family be able to reside in a Mcmansion with a swimming pool and a tennis court? Also, it probably involved staying inside a room absent from light. This was because my father's flesh had the palest complexion I had ever seen. It almost matched his hair color to such a pinpoint that he looked as though he was drawn on a sheet of printer paper. Aside from his eyes, all the color in his body seemed to be leached out. Add that to the fact that he shared the name of the lord of all that is evil, and his heavily concentrated amount of ex-wives (for a non-celebrity) and there was enough rumor fuel to cause a gas explosion.

And when it came to favorites, Father didn't even try to hide that I was his. Of course Lucifer had been his pride and joy as well, but to Father, he was a reflection of his parenting skills. I, on the other hand was his princess. The apple of his eye and what he felt for me was genuine love. Lucifer was somebody to show off to the neighbors. I was somebody to pamper and protect. Oh, he didn't exactly neglect the rest of the lot, and he did have a soft spot for Amaimon and Azazel. But I was the only one (besides Lucifer) who wasn't a total wash-up introvert! I was going places! I was special! Sure father always came to Samael's plays and Astaroth's poetry readings and stuff. But I was the favorite (aside from Lucifer)

Now that we've established that I was father's favorite (who was still living in the house) I think we can finally continue from where we last left off.


End file.
